


Outside the Wall

by coolbreeze1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Senses, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeze1/pseuds/coolbreeze1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter with alien technology brings Sheppard’s fight for survival to a whole different level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my beta, everybetty! This was written for SGAFan for the 2011 Sheppard H/C Secret Santa exchange.

The first time John stepped through a Stargate, he remembered his stomach flipping and twisting in on itself in fear while adrenaline-induced euphoria pumped through his veins, the exact moment his skin hit the event horizon and began pulling him molecule by molecule to another galaxy, the rush of stepping onto an _alien_ world. The second time had felt the same, and he’d stared at not-quite earthly trees under unfamiliar constellations thinking the air he was breathing was _alien_ air, the mud in his boots _alien_ mud. The training and protocols he’d had to learn between sitting in the chair in Antarctica and stepping through the gate with the rest of the expedition were all for missions to _alien_ planets in a distant freakin’ _galaxy._

It was sad, really, when alien became…routine. The 164th time—or thereabouts—that John stepped through the stargate stimulated no reaction whatsoever. No adrenaline, no rush, no thrill of discovery. It was just another planet in a galaxy full of planets, with grass, trees, oxygen—

“Whoa,” he breathed out, emerging from the stargate. He stutter-stepped, almost forgetting to keep moving out of the way.

“—was saying that if I don’t get back…for…uh…” Rodney emerged from the wormhole behind him with a soft plop, his voice trailing off as he walked up to John’s side. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” John agreed.

“I mean, this is really…”

“I know.”

Ronon had arrived ahead of them and stood a couple of dozen feet away, staring across a softly rippling lake to rushing waterfalls on the far side. John and Rodney stepped forward simultaneously, taking in their surroundings. Behind them, Teyla emerged, and John smiled at her sharp intake of breath as she saw this world for the first time.

Some worlds looked like Earth, so much so that the Marines had taken to naming them after states and countries they’d lived in or visited. Other worlds were blatantly, surreally alien. A lot of worlds made John feel like he’d traveled back in time, and there were plenty that looked hilariously cartoonish and scarier than any movie anyone had ever dreamed up.

This world was simply breathtaking.

“Nice view,” John breathed out. Waterfalls rose at least a hundred feet above them, strings of cascading white water that tumbled in twists and turns down the uneven cliff face. The gate sat in a small clearing facing the lake and waterfall, surrounded by steep hills and thick trees.

“The MALP footage really didn’t do this place justice,” Rodney said, digging into his vest. “I’m going to go with autumn as the current season.”

“Maybe the trees are always yellow,” Ronon piped up.

“And orange, and purple, and red,” John added. “Really, really red. Lorne would kill to see this.”

“Major Lorne?” Teyla asked.

John nodded his head, waving at a tree the color of fire. “The colors. He would dig the colors.”

Rodney pulled out his life-signs detector and tapped the side. “The ruins are supposed to be…hey, whoa.”

The change in tone squashed John’s sense of wonder, and he felt a familiar tension ripple across his back. “What?”

“Life signs, about half a klick that way,” he said, waving toward a path that followed the edge of the lake and disappeared around a steep curve.

“Alright, folks. Let’s get our game faces on.” John rolled his neck, working some of the tightness in his muscles out, and gripped his P90. Ronon took lead, striding forward and sweeping his head from side to side. Teyla dropped behind them, and John kept pace with Rodney in the middle.

“I thought this place was uninhabited,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the lake and shooting a frown at Rodney.

“It is! Or, was. There’s only about a dozen people, though, so maybe they’re just intergalactic explorers like ourselves.”

“Or Wraith,” Ronon offered.

John jerked and turned toward Teyla, but she was already shaking her head.

“I sense no Wraith here.”

The sound of the waterfalls died down as they left the lake’s edge and plunged deeper into the woods. The colors were almost overwhelming, made even more brilliant by late morning sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead. The dirt path they were on grew hard, shifting to worn but solid stone, and the first of the ruins appeared ahead of them—a crumbling wall made of black granite blocks.

“We know much about this place?” John asked, eyeing the remains of the wall. They kept moving, weaving their way around the side of the hill. They were at a higher level of elevation than John realized as they passed a break in the trees and he caught a glimpse of a distant rock cliff jutting up out of a painter’s pallet of trees across a sloping valley below him.

“Not much at all. There was no mention of a civilization on this world in the Ancient database, so the archeologists are tentatively assuming it developed sometime after they left Pegasus. Based on Stackhouse’s preliminary scan when they discovered this place, the design and layout don’t bear much resemblance to anything Ancient , so—”

“Sshhh!” Ronon hissed.

Rodney snapped his jaw shut and held his scanner up. Ronon had stopped at another short stone wall and was peering over the edge. John crept toward him, glancing over the wall before ducking down, out of sight. He caught a glimpse of an open clearing below them holding three wagons and a couple of large campfires.

“They look more like Old West pioneers than intergalactic explorers,” he whispered as Rodney and Teyla caught up to them.

“How are we playing this?” Ronon asked.

John paused, considering, then shrugged. “The usual—we keep quiet until we hit the edge of the clearing, then yell out to them while we’re still within the treeline. If they’re friendly, we join them for tinfoil dinners. If they’re not, we have the trees for cover and the gate at our backs.”

He heard grunts and murmurs of agreement from the others as they moved back onto the trail, and he led them along the path that took them downhill and away from the clearing before hitting a fast-moving river. The stone trail followed the river, sometimes swinging out toward the middle of the water then turning back to shore, sometimes crossing over it completely. At one point, it split, and they veered to the right, relying on Ronon’s keen sense of direction.

The temperature was crisp and cool, prickling the skin of John’s neck and face, and he was glad he’d worn the long sleeve shirt and jacket. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh air. It smelled of moisture and old leaves and brought back a slew of memories from childhood, running through the woods after school with Dave and making the most of the dwindling amounts of sunlight and warmth as they got closer to winter. Definitely autumn here.

Their concerns about unfriendly intergalactic explorers proved to be unfounded. _For once,_ Rodney had hissed as they made their way to the camp. A dozen people greeted them ranging in age from infant to middle-aged. They were traders, scouring no-longer-inhabited worlds for relics and artifacts that they could sell at some of the larger Pegasus markets. Three of the men served John and his team a sweet, hot tea while the women— _Wives?_ John wondered—kept younger children out of sight if not completely out of ear shot.

After several minutes of polite conversation, John stood, signaling to the rest of the team that it was time to go. The traders seemed nice enough but they weren’t the friendliest bunch, barely smiling and watching John and his team closely. It wasn’t alarming, exactly, but he was getting a paranoid vibe off these people.

Or he was just being paranoid.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, facing the leader of the family of traders, Reshtiv. “We should be going.”

“We appreciate you introducing yourselves. You never know who you will encounter on worlds such as these,” Reshtiv answered. He was as tall as John, though broader through the shoulders. He was a big man and obviously well fed if his gut was anything to go by, but his movements were quick and graceful. His short hair was closer to gray than brown, and he was also clearly strong, moving like an athlete—not someone John wanted to underestimate.

A big hefty man collected their cups, giving each team member a quick nod. As they took a step back from the campfire, a woman ran up to Reshtiv, tugging on his arm and pulling him away from the group. John eyed them carefully, watching the woman’s frantic hand motions. Reshtiv’s face lost all expression, and John felt his stomach tighten in sudden apprehension. He sensed his team spreading out behind him and covering their path back to the trees and the gate.

“Is everything alright?” he called out, when Reshtiv turned back to him.

“I apologize,” the family leader said. “My youngest daughter has wandered off. She is…independent and tends to run off on her own despite the number of times my wife and I have forbidden her from doing so.”

“Can we help?” Teyla asked, stepping forward, and John nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know,” Reshtiv started, but his wife stepped forward, gripping his arm and cutting him off.

“Please, Resh.” She turned to John and his team, looking panicked. “She has barely passed her ninth cycle, still too young to be alone on a strange world.”

Reshtiv sighed, giving his wife a quick, reassuring hug. “If it would not pull you too much from your duties, we would appreciate any aid you could provide.”

“Happy to help,” John answered. He heard a stifled sigh from Rodney behind him and plastered a smile on his face. “Where should we start?”

* * *

They split into four teams, one Atlantean with one trader. John wasn’t thrilled with the setup, but the argument was that the missing girl might run from John or his teammates if they weren’t with anyone she recognized, and four teams allowed them to cover more territory. Ronon could handle himself, as could Teyla. It was Rodney that he didn’t like leaving alone, especially with the stocky, tea-serving brute Reshtiv had paired up with him.

Reshtiv himself had joined John, and together they’d headed away from the gate, across the clearing and into the trees. They eventually hit a path and began following it, hoping the girl would think to do the same thing. John walked behind the trade leader, holding the LSD close to his chest. In the last hour, the other search teams had disappeared off the screen’s grid, heading in different directions, and John and Reshtiv were the only two blips showing.

“What is that?”

John jerked up in surprise, finding Reshtiv staring intently at the scanner in his hand. “Scanner…thing,” he answered lamely. He waved it toward the thick woods on either side of him. “If we get close to your daughter, we should be able to pick her up on this.”

Reshtiv’s eyebrows rose in surprise and his eyes glittered. “May I see it?”

 _He’s a treasure hunter,_ John thought. _Of course he’s going to want to see it, and probably figure out its trade value._

“Fine,” he said, handing it over. The scanner screen immediately blinked out.

“It is not working.”

John bit back a smile. “Sorry, it’s…uh…tuned only to respond to me specifically. It won’t work for anyone else.”

Reshtiv’s face fell and he handed the scanner back. Maybe it was unfair of John to assume the man was only interested in the trade value of the LSD, but better safe than sorry. Last thing he wanted was to get mugged by this guy. He would never live that down.

The path climbed up a short hill to a plateau filled with ruined walls and half-formed buildings. There were a thousand places for a kid to hide around here, but the scanner still showed nothing. He clicked his radio.

“This is Sheppard. Report.”

“ _Nothing,_ ” Ronon answered first.

“ _We have seen no sign of the girl either,_ ” Teyla chimed in.

John waited a moment, a small kernel of dread building in his gut. He was opening his mouth to yell for Rodney when the scientist finally answered.

“ _Nothing. Sorry,_ ” he said, sounding breathless. “ _Are you guys walking straight up the face of a mountain, too? Because if you’re all moseying through grassy fields, I am going to be very, very pissed._ ”

John smiled, and the dread in his gut washed out. _You’re getting suspicious in your old age, John,_ he thought. He clicked his radio again. “Grassy fields as far as the eye can see.”

“ _Really?_ ” Rodney squawked.

A breeze picked up, ruffling his hair. The ruins on the plateau were surrounded by trees on three sides and what looked like a steep drop-off on the other. He took in a deep breath of the crisp air and stared at the bright reds and yellows of the trees against the vivid blue of the sky.

“No. Check in every 20 minutes.”

Reshtiv had stopped a few feet away and let his shoulder bag slide down his arm. As John turned toward him, he saw the bigger man swing the bag up in a high arc and pivot toward John like a discus thrower.

He reacted instinctively, twisting away, but Reshtiv’s swing was fast, and he still caught enough of the blow on the side of the head to spin and tumble to his hands and knees. He rolled as soon as he hit the ground, barely missing Reshtiv’s kick as the trader’s leg swung out. His P90 had flown from his hands on the first hit, but it was still strapped to his vest, and he scrambled to grip it again as he jumped to his feet.

Before he even had a chance to grab the weapon, Reshtiv tackled him and both men smacked hard into the grass and dirt. The P90 stayed pinned between them, but the trader seemed more interested in going straight for John’s throat anyway. John twisted his arm around and yanked on one of the trader’s elbows, shifting the larger man’s weight to one side. He toppled, and a second later John was on top, but Reshtiv was strong. Within moments, John ended up flat on his back again, staring up at the trader whose face was as red as the autumn trees.

With a grunt, Reshtiv leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against John’s windpipe. John’s eyes bugged out and he twisted his head against the relentless pressure. He caught a glimpse of Reshtiv’s bag lying open on the ground, and a smooth marble rock within reach. Black spots were already dancing across his vision. He closed his eyes, channeling all of his energy into grabbing the carved stone sphere.

As soon as he had it, he swung his arm up, clocking Reshtiv on the side of the head with a solid whack. Reshtiv went boneless and John shoved him to the side, crawling out from under the other man’s sprawling limbs. He gasped in oxygen, his throat raw from the effort.

The trader wasn’t unconscious and kept enough wits about him to push himself to his feet and wobble away. John was breathing heavily, willing his lungs to take their fill of oxygen already and let him get back to fighting Reshtiv. He leaned on a nearby crumbled wall and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. His skin felt clammy, his muscles shaking from adrenaline and sudden exertion.

“Why?” he choked out.

Reshtiv stood a dozen feet away, propping himself up on another crumbling wall. One hand was pressed against the side his head, and blood poured freely from a gash above his ear. He glared at John.

“Sheppard,” he answered. “From the posters. The reward money for you alone is more than I make in an entire cycle trading old relics.”

 _Damn Genii. How many worlds still had their wanted posters?_

“Old news,” John rasped out. “We’re all buddy-buddy with the Genii now. You won’t get anything.” He straightened as his breathing finally slowed its frantic pace and squared up against the trader, but before he could say anything more, Reshtiv pointed at his hand.

“What did you do?”

John glanced down. The white and pink marble sphere looked brighter and the stone was growing warm in his hand. He held it out, wondering if it was just a trick of the light. All the colors on this world looked more intense.

“What is this thing?” The stone was definitely hot, and the glowing white of the marble was washing out the pink striations. He glanced up at the trader. “Where did you get this?”

Reshtiv took a tentative step forward, shaking his head. His gaze was fixed on the glowing rock. John cocked his arm back, suddenly wanting to get the thing as far away from him as possible, but the trader chose that moment to rush again. He tackled John, and John lost his grip on the sphere. He felt the morning breeze rush over his skin, smelled the relic hunter’s hair as they collided, heard the sphere hit the ground at their feet.

The seconds seemed to stretch into infinity. John swallowed against an aching bruise on his throat and felt cold fear wash through him, and then a flash of light exploded out of the marble sphere, enveloping his entire world.

* * *

He woke up on his side, seeing first a tuft of grass inches from his face, then his hands lying limp just beyond that. He breathed slowly, not daring to move. He was…on that planet with all of the colors, the one Lorne would like.

That’s right. Colors. Waterfalls.

People.

Wait. The people had been traders—scavengers, really. Missing… There’d been a missing... someone…

The memory slammed into him and he took a sharp breath. A girl had been missing and they’d been looking for her, and then Reshtiv had attacked John, intent on turning him over to the Genii for that reward money. Which meant they were probably after Rodney, too. Fueled by a sudden sense of urgency, John grit his teeth and tried to sit up.

And didn’t move at all.

“Whaa…?” he breathed out, the word coming out slurred. He closed his eyes, reaching out with this senses. He felt… weird. Not in pain, just odd.

He opened his eyes again and stared at his hands, then felt adrenaline surge through his gut. He couldn’t feel them, at all. This world had been sunny but cool, and his hands had been a little cold when they’d been walking through the woods. Now he felt nothing. He couldn’t even feel the grass that he clearly saw pressing against the sides of his fingers.

He bowed his head, managing to move it an inch or so, far enough to look down at the rest of his body. He saw his vest, his pants, his boots, but he only felt a vague pressure against the side of his body lying in the field. He looked like he’d curled up on the ground to take a nap.

“Ressshh…” he mumbled. The trader had tackled him and tried to choke him out, but John had picked up a smooth rock and knocked him over. The rock—the damn glowing, hot rock.

He groaned. After all his experience with weird alien technologies, he should have known better than to hold onto the thing. He should have thrown it as far away as possible as soon as he’d realized it wasn’t just a decorative paperweight. He shifted his head again, seeing another tuft of grass poke up as he moved his head away from it. He should have felt the blades of grass tickling against his skin. He licked his lips, feeling his tongue cool as soon as it was exposed to the fresh air. He had some feeling then, inside his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

This is messed up, he thought. It felt a little like he’d been hit with a Wraith stunner but… different. Less pins-and-needles tingly and more numb like when the dentist shoots you up before drilling into your teeth.

He heard a soft grunt behind him, and became aware of Reshtiv’s slow, steady breathing. The trader was still here then. John assumed he was either unconscious or also unable to move since he hadn’t resumed his attack. That was one small break, at least.

He stared at his hands again and saw the grass twitching slightly. Must be a breeze. He couldn’t feel a breeze. He needed to call his team, get some help, warn them of the traders’ plan. His thoughts drifted briefly to the lost girl, but then he shoved that worry aside. He supposed it was possible there was still a girl missing, but if he was a betting man, he’d put his money on the missing child being nothing more than a story to separate them all.

And it had worked. John swallowed against a vague sense of nausea deep in the back of his throat. How long had he been unconscious? More than twenty minutes? Had his team already tried to contact him? They would know something was wrong the second he didn’t check in with them, so maybe they were on their way right now.

He liked that thought, and he relaxed—mentally, at any rate—into the ground. As long as Reshtiv didn’t regain his ability to move before him, there was a good chance his teammates would be there to bail him out.

John drifted. He didn’t think he fell asleep, but when he opened his eyes the light had changed, shifting from a bright late morning to a more golden mid-afternoon. He sucked in a deep breath, concentrating on what he could feel. He thought he felt cool air in his chest, maybe his ribs expanding, but the lack of touch sensation everywhere was skewing his perceptions.

He stared at his hands, willing them to move, and was rewarded when his fingers jerked. He bowed his head toward his body and was relieved when it was a little easier to move as well. His legs were in the same position, but after a lot of concentration, he managed to get them to twitch and straighten.

“Come on,” he breathed out. His mouth felt like he was sucking on a potato, but the words came out clearly enough.

With a groan, he lifted his arms and twisted, relying on how he knew his body should move and not on how it felt. His limbs flailed and his weight shifted, and he rolled onto his back. The view above him—a string of white wispy clouds—immediately blurred and he snapped his eyes shut against the sense of swishing back and forth on the surface of a rough ocean. His stomach curled in on itself and his breathing sped up, drying out his mouth.

He rolled back onto his side instinctively, moving faster and easier than he had before. He swallowed desperately against the urge to throw up and just barely managed to hold it back. The last thing he wanted to do was start choking on vomit and not realize it until he was blacking out because he couldn’t feel anything.

His second attempt was more successful several minutes later, and he half crawled, half dragged himself over to a crumbling ruined wall a few feet away. He sat up and leaned against it, fighting back the dizziness and nausea again. Reshtiv lay on his back, but by the time John was settled against the wall, he was fidgeting and moaning on the ground.

John pawed at his ear, but without seeing what he was doing, he had no way to tell if he was touching the radio earpiece, or if the earpiece was even still there. He let his arm flop to his vest and focused on squeezing his hand around the buttons of the radio box. The light signaling that the radio was on had gone dark, despite the fact that he could see the dial was still turned to on. A few feet from where he’d woken up, he spotted the smooth marble sphere.

It was dark gray now, almost black. Now that he was staring at it without fighting for his life, he saw that it wasn’t perfectly round—more egg shaped with a thin black cap on one end. Reshtiv flailed and groaned, muttering incoherently and John rolled his head toward him. The trader was breathing fast, his chest rising and falling visibly as he appeared to struggle against the numbness and paralysis plaguing John. With a sudden scream, he rolled to his hands and knees, pushed himself to his feet, and staggered sideways for two seconds before going boneless and collapsing back to the ground. He lay still for a moment, then groaned again and started the struggle to get upright.

“Shhhi…’ttt,” John muttered. Reshtiv was moving a lot more and a lot faster than he was, and sooner or later, he’d spot his Genii fugitive.

John stared down at his lap, studying his hands. He could feel the weight of them against his legs. He could feel the pressure of the ground beneath his butt and the wall at his back. He could almost feel his vest pulling against his shoulders.

Pressure. He had no sensation in his skin—no pain, no hot, no cold—but he could feel pressure. That had to be useful to him somehow. He focused on a memory of standing up then flung his arms to his side, using the pressure of the ground and the wall to guide his movements. He stood up, swaying and breathing hard, and sucked in a deep breath.

 _Take that, bitch,_ he thought triumphantly. He was up, on his feet. The P90 swung from his vest, and he grabbed at it with thick, clumsy fingers.

A grunt of exertion sounded across the clearing and he jerked his head up, feeling his sense of victory wilt at the sight of Reshtiv standing in the middle of the ruins without support. He looked like he was about to pitch to the ground any second, but he was up and staring at John, his face cemented in a murderous scowl.

He also held the now gray relic “flashbang”—for lack of a better word—in one hand, raising it above his head for a few seconds. He was swaying hard enough that it was making John dizzy.

“Whaa’ didja do...t’me?” he slurred.

John shook his head, then closed his eyes when the waves in his head swelled to tropical storm levels. “I didn’t…”

“You…did…sawwit g-glu-glowinn’…”

John pushed away from the wall and inched along it, keeping a hand pressed against the rough surface to guide him. He moved slowly, but he didn’t fall, and he put a little more distance between himself and Reshtiv.

“We… need help,” he said, glad that his own voice didn’t sound as muddled as Reshtiv’s.

“No,” Reshtiv yelled. He took a step forward, then flailed his arms and took two steps back, lurching as he fought to maintain his balance. He groaned, dropping his head to his chest.

John had reached the end of one crumbling wall, and he used Reshtiv’s moment of distraction to stagger over to a post about waist high. He leaned on it, breathing deeply, feeling the cool air only when he kept his mouth slightly open.

Reshtiv swung around toward, leaning precariously to one side before righting himself. He raised the marble flashbang again and launched it at John, stumbling forward and dropping to his knees in the process. John watched the rock hurl toward him, but his body betrayed him, like it was moving through molasses in reaction.

The pitch was more lucky than anything, given both of their disorientation. John grunted as air suddenly whooshed out of him, and he felt the rock impact his chest with that same pain-free pressure. His hold on the stone post wasn’t strong enough for the sudden shift in weight, though, and he fell backward, wheezing as he hit the ground.

“Dammit,” he mumbled, because it had taken a lot of effort to get upright and now his head was swimming with dizziness again. He was breathing hard, feeling like too much air was being forced through his lungs, but after a moment, that pressure let up. He rolled to his stomach and pushed himself back up to his knees. Using the stone post, he pulled himself the rest of the way to his feet.

He heard Reshtiv coming behind him fast, the swish of his clothes, the padding of his feet against the grass, groans intermingling with labored breaths. John tensed, looking out across the plateau. The drop-off in front of him gave way to the low valley and canvas spread of autumn trees, reminding him of a Seurat painting.

 _Lorne really would love this place._ The errant thought crossed his mind as Reshtiv’s shoulder caught him in the back. They flew forward, and the trader’s momentum carried them quickly toward the cliff edge. John saw a flash of yellow grass, then gray rock, then blue sky as they rolled, and then suddenly the pressure of Reshtiv’s arms around his body and the ground beneath him disappeared.

He had one brief, imagined moment of floating weightless in the air, and then the ground rolled into view below him, and he prayed that his inability to feel pain held on for just a little bit longer.

* * *

He woke up flat on his back, staring up at the same cobalt blue sky. He heard leaves rustling around him, smelled dirt and decomposing vegetation, and tasted blood in his mouth. He flit his eyes to his left and studied the short, rocky cliff jutting up into the sky.

He’d been lucky. The cliff was no more than ten feet high. He flit his eyes in the other direction trying to take in as much detail around him without actually moving. He may not have fallen far, but he’d still fallen, and he still had a severely limited sense of touch. What if he’d broken his neck or back? What if moving would finish him off, or paralyze him permanently? He swallowed the blood in his mouth and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly and steadily.

 _Concentrate, John_ , he thought. _One thing at a time._ There was no sound of Reshtiv anywhere, so either he was dead at his feet, still unconscious, or gone. He reached out with his other senses, honing in on the sounds and focusing on the soft rustling of leaves. That sound was all around him, rising and falling in waves, so that meant it was probably caused by a breeze and not someone walking through the dead leaves on the ground.

With the leaves catalogued, he forced his hearing to move past them. There was another sound—a steady rushing sound like a river. It was not close, but not too far either. From somewhere behind him, he heard the occasional chirp of birds. What he didn’t hear was Reshtiv breathing or moving.

“Not here,” he whispered, opening his eyes. He wanted to sit up and look around, but he forced himself to concentrate on his next sense.

“Taste,” he murmured, lickin his lips. The air hit his tongue and instantly cooled. He had some feeling in his mouth then, and he felt no pain there. If he’d bitten his tongue he guessed he would feel that. Maybe he’d cut his lip or busted his nose. There was blood in his mouth, but not a lot, so whatever had caused it couldn’t be that serious.

He stared at the sky again. He’d been out for minutes, tops. The sky looked the same as it had when he’d been fighting Reshtiv in the clearing. He drew in a deep breath, smelling the decomposing leaves and dirt around him, and crossed broken nose off his list of possible injuries.

The next step was to look around, and he felt fear rush through him at the thought of moving and finishing off any back-breaking injuries the fall might have started. Or of trying to move and not moving at all.

“Buck up, John,” he said, the words a little slurred but coherent enough. He had no sense of pain or temperature, but he was feeling pressure. He could use the sense of pressure to his advantage. He swallowed, focusing on the ground beneath him. He felt a weight pushing into his shoulder blades and down his back, then his butt and calves. His arms were splayed at his sides, and he turned his wrists, digging his palms into the dirt and feeling the ground return a steady pressure.

He could feel, kind of, and it extended the length of his body. Did that mean no major back or neck injury? Before he could dwell too long on that question, he pushed his arms against the ground and sat up. He caught a glimpse of a wide dirt path and a hill to one side that sloped down into colorful trees, before everything blurred out of focus, going first white, then gray, then almost black. He breathed fast, feeling he was on the edge of passing out again. Nausea bubbled up in his stomach.

“Not…gonna happ’n…” he rasped. His head felt disconnected from the rest of his body, but the world settled back into focus a moment later.

He opened his eyes tentatively and looked around. The sounds had not changed, nor the smells, nor the sights. Reshtiv was nowhere to be seen, but John spotted dragging footsteps in the path a few feet away from him, leading around the cliff wall and down the hill toward the sound of the river. The pressure on the backs of his legs had increased now that he was sitting, and John took that as a good sign.

He ran his hands through his hair, and the fingertips of his right hand came back tinged in red. A quick check of the rest of his body, relying solely on his sight to spot blood, revealed no other gushing injuries. He looked around, wishing one of his teammates would show up. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to get to his feet and look up at the cliff, then decide it was too high to climb in his current condition. He staggered off down the path, following Reshtiv’s dragging footsteps into the forest.

The path curved through the trees and the sound of the river grew loud, blocking both John’s stumbling gait and any sound Reshtiv might make. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t run into the trader again but knew the chances of that were slim. He wouldn’t hear Reshtiv but Reshtiv wouldn’t hear him either. After several minutes, he noticed his P90 was gone, no longer swinging from his vest, and he shook his head.

“Get it together,” he mumbled. If he was going to survive, he needed to be sharp and on his game. He almost laughed at the thought. Sharp involved sensation, and while the lack of pain was nice, it would only make his present task of getting back to his team and the gate in one piece more difficult.

One second he was walking, reaching out from tree to tree to help with his balance, and the next he found himself face first in the dirt. He hadn’t even had time to realize he was falling and throw his hands out in front of him. He tasted mud and dead leaves, and he pushed himself to his hands and knees as he spit it out.

“Focus, focus, focus,” he said. The words came out clear and strong despite the numbness around his lips, and he smiled at the improvement. Or thought he’d smiled. Hard to tell without feeling anything.

As he moved to stand, one leg caught, and he glanced down to see his shoe tangled with a root. “That’ll do it,” he muttered, adding rocks, branches, and roots on the path in front of him to his growing list of things to watch for.

It was darker under the canopy of trees, but even so, John sensed time passing as he stumbled along the path. He fell three more times, grateful and freaked out that he felt nothing. The pressure against the bottom of his feet and his hands as he grabbed on to trees was the only sense he had of still being attached to the ground. When he pictured himself walking through the hallways of Atlantis, and then tried to mimic what he was seeing in his head, his steps came quicker and he plowed forward, back toward the gate.

It was late afternoon when he rounded the next bend in the trail and finally caught up to Reshtiv. The path had swung back toward the river, and the white water was a roar of sound next to him. He jerked back behind a tree and dropped to his knees, but Reshtiv’s focus was entirely on the water. He looked panicked as he dipped his hands into the river and splashed his face and arms, rubbing his skin almost violently.

Besides him lay John’s P90.

“Damn you, greedy bastard,” he murmured. Reshtiv was babbling to himself, but the rushing river washed out any intelligible words. He was freaked out though, and John allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He appeared to be as numb as John and not handling it very well at all. When splashing himself with water stopped working, he began pinching his arms, twisting and pulling at the skin in what should have been a painful manner.

 _Wait it out,_ he thought. _Stay away from the crazy man._ John wanted his P90 back, but if Reshtiv had figured out how to fire it, he didn’t think the trader would show much compunction about shooting him. After several minutes, Reshtiv sat back, slumping in exhaustion.

 _Come on,_ John urged. It was growing dark fast, and he didn’t want to trip through the forest in the middle of the night. Reshtiv made no move to stand up and keep moving. With a sigh, John decided to try to sneak past the man instead and leave him behind. He rolled to his knees and glanced down at his arms to give himself a visual anchor to push his body up to his feet.

“Aaarrgghhh!” he choked out, lurching forward and falling out into the path. He rolled, flinging his right arm. He caught a glimpse of large black eyes, pinchers digging into the flesh of his forearm, and a hooked tail snapping back and forth. The thing was the size of a small dog, but its body looked hard, like the shell of a reddish-brown insect.

He rolled again, hearing Reshtiv yelling behind him, but he had no time for the trader. He grabbed onto the tail of the insect creature and grimaced as he rolled into a patch of sunlight and saw the hard shell of the bug creature was covered in thin blond hairs. He yanked on it, screaming as he did so, and watched the pinchers rip through his flesh.

His arm jerked free as the bug lost its grip, and he heard it squeal. He staggered to his feet and pitched the insect into the water, sighing in relief when it disappeared beneath the white water. He lifted his arm and stared at the ragged bite mark. Blood flowed freely from the wound, bright red in the late afternoon sun.

“What didja…do?” the trader yelled.

John looked up, watching the other man square up against him. He had the P90 in one hand and his feet spread out wide to maintain his balance. John held up both hands, frowning at the thick blood on his arm. He needed to get a bandage on it soon.

“I didn’t do anything,” John answered.

Reshtiv swung the P90 around and pulled the trigger, but he hadn’t figured out the safety yet. When nothing happened, he looked down at the weapon. John used the moment of distraction to reach for his handgun with his left hand. He had to stare at his hand the entire time, but by the time he unholstered it, flipped the safety off, and pointed it at Reshtiv, the trader was still fiddling with the weapon, squeezing the trigger repeatedly to no avail.

“Not gonna work,” John said.

Reshtiv looked up, his face flushed red with anger. “Can’t feel anything. You did something.”

“Wasn’t me.”

Reshtiv growled. “I’ll kill you.”

“We need to stop fighting and get back to our people. Something’s wrong with us and they can help,” he answered. He hoped they could help. This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d been stunned too many times to count by Wraith stunners, and this was something else completely.

 _Oh, god, what if his sensation of touch never returned to normal?_

He pushed the thought out of his mind. His handgun had dipped, and he raised it again, blinking hard. He was starting to feel sick to his stomach, but Reshtiv was fumbling with the P90 again and with sinking dread, John saw him inadvertently flip the safety off.

“Don’t move.”

The trader stopped and narrowed his eyes. He took another step forward and swung the automatic weapon toward John. Before John had time to think, he squeezed the trigger. The gun barked off a shot and hit Reshtiv in the shoulder, and the other man flew backward. The P90 sailed through the air, landing with a splash into the water and then disappearing beneath the rapids.

The trader groaned, writhing on the ground, and John walked toward him carefully. “Reshtiv, I don’t want to hurt you but I will defend myself.”

“Dead…you’re a dead man…” He rolled to his feet, faster than John expected, and launched himself forward.

 _No pain._ The thought flew through his mind as he pulled the trigger again, but Reshtiv was too close and knocked his arm out of the way. The bullets sailed up and into the trees, and then the trader was plowing into John’s midsection.

 _He feels no pain, he won’t slow down._ John grunted as they landed and swung his gun back toward Reshtiv, then stopped in surprise when he saw his hand was empty. He’d dropped the gun and not felt it. The trader screeched, clawing at John’s chest and face, fighting like an enraged animal. John kicked and punched, working his way out from under Reshtiv’s battering fists. There was no pain to slow him down either. He planted a foot in Reshtiv’s chest and flung him backward, but the man simply twisted and came at him again.

He jerked on John’s bleeding arm, and John felt a twinge of something deep in his arm. _Pain!_ His mind sang out, almost joyfully. The distraction cost him, however, and next thing he knew he was flying through the air, heading face first for the water.

* * *

He came to the surface choking, clawing at the water to keep his head above the surface. The river swept him away from Reshtiv, and John caught the tail end of a frustrated scream before he was pulled under again. He tasted and felt the cold liquid in his mouth, then came up gagging a second later. The trees whipped past him and he was dunked three more times before he finally saw the scenery on either bank slow down.

The river curved then widened, and the current slowed down drastically. John scraped at the water, trying to swim. It was almost easier than walking had been, since there was no danger of falling. He let his body float along until he reached shallow water, then pulled himself to shore. He stood as soon as he was out of the water, then blinked and found himself back on the ground.

“Whoa,” he mumbled. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead and caught sight of the ragged cut from the dog-sized insect’s pinchers. It had stopped bleeding and whatever pain he had briefly felt before was gone, but it still looked horrible. He dug into his vest for a bandage and slapped it over the wound.

Any dexterity he might have gained over the last several hours was gone, and he grunted in frustration as he tied a sloppy knot to keep the bandage in place. It took too long to fasten it to his arm, and by the time he was done, both hands were trembling. He stared at his knuckles, and for a second he thought it was a trick of the light. They looked bruised, like big purple-blue splotches had been painted over pale white skin.

The shaking got worse, and he checked himself over for any other injuries. The one on his head from the cliff fall wasn’t bleeding, nor was the insect bite. It wasn’t until he spotted his foot still sitting in the water that the answer dawned on him. Cold. He was cold.

No— _freezing._

“Dammit,” he muttered. He pulled himself to his feet, swayed, and only managed to stay upright when he grabbed onto a nearby tree. He was about as uncoordinated as he’d been when he’d first woken up from the marble flashbang. “Gott…wwwaa...rrmmmmupp.”

It was late afternoon, and in the thick cover of the trees, darkness was falling fast. He had no idea how far he’d traveled, but he hoped it would take Reshtiv a while to catch up to him. Better yet, he made it to the gate before Reshtiv even got close, now that he probably had John’s gun.

John cut through the trees, hitting a path again. In the growing darkness, he spotted ruined walls made of black stone, and he tried to gauge where he was. He’d seen rough maps of the ruins, but he didn’t remember a river. He staggered forward, as careful as possible of the rocks and holes and other obstacles threatening to send him pitching forward. More ruins appeared, but John finally gave up on locating where he was.

The path curved and suddenly the trees opened up, and John forgot the lack of cold sensation or the fact that he was still shivering at the sight. This world really was incredible—every postcard photographer’s dream. The trail he was on jutted out across a glassy lake, and steep hills rose up on all sides alive with color. Through the leaves he caught an occasional glimpse of ruined buildings on plateaus.

“Prime real estate,” he mumbled, stepping out cautiously onto the trail over the water. The path was made of stone and held steady. John had regained some of his coordination, and he made it across the lake to the trees on the other side within minutes, and without falling.

The difference in light was startling. It had been relatively bright out on the lake, but now that he was under the trees again, he realized night was falling fast. He held out his hands, seeing dusky blue around his knuckles still. His clothes were wet—or looked wet—as well. He needed to get warm soon.

“Fire,” he mumbled, enunciating the word carefully.

A bird chirped then fluttered at his sudden pronouncement and John wiped a shaking arm across his forehead. He was getting tired, probably an effect of the cold. And the flashbang. And the fights with Reshtiv. And his two tumbles—one off a cliff and one into a river.

“What a crappy day.”

He pressed forward along the trail, traveling another twenty minutes before he spotted a black stone wall several yards off the trail. He trudged through the bushes, falling once, then surveyed his surroundings. The ruined wall turned out to be three and a half ruined walls, creating a refuge from the wind he could hear but not feel. The structure wasn’t large, maybe twelve by twelve, but the only entrance was the crumbled gap he’d walked through, making it easy to defend. It would also block all sight of a fire from the path.  
After several more trips through the woods around him, John had a stockpile of logs and the beginnings of a good-sized bonfire. His hands shook, but he managed to spark a flame with the lighter he carried in his vest. Within seconds, the tinder caught and he threw logs onto the blaze.

“Right, fire,” he said, holding his hands out. His knuckles still looked blue, but it was diminishing. He stood and shed his clothes, stripping down to his underwear and praying his team didn’t pick that moment to finally show up. He hung the wet garments on the stone walls to let them dry, then crouched near the opening of the ruined building.

The small room should warm up fast enough, and he didn’t dare get so close he burned his skin. He poked at his arms, then rubbed his chest, frowning at the lack of sensation. The pressure was there, so in some ways he could feel what his hands were doing, but still no pain or any idea of temperature. It hadn’t gotten any better either. If this had been a regular Wraith stunner, he should have recovered from its effects by now.

A twig snapped out in the forest and he snapped his head in that direction. A second passed, then another, but nothing else moved. A draft of wind picked up, blowing through the trees overhead, and a log on the fire snapped, shooting sparks into the dark air. John glanced up, seeing the deep blue of the sky veer toward purple. The sun was setting, and the shadows in the woods outside the ruined building grew dark fast.

He crawled back to his pants and pulled out his knife. It was the only weapon he had left. With a curse, he realized his only flashlight had been attached to his P90. He dug his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion, then jerked his hand away at the sudden image of literally poking his own eyeballs out of his head.

“Damn, I gotta be careful.” He scooted a little closer to the fire and held his hands out, seeing the skin had changed from white and blue to a healthier, warmer pink, and that his shivering had stopped. The bandage on his arm was holding and the wound showed no sign that it was still bleeding. He also thought he could feel a burning stab deep in the muscle. His hands were scraped, as were his knees, shins, and elbows, and what he could see of the rest of his body was spotted with bruises.

“This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow,” he muttered, letting his gaze lose focus as he stared into the fire. “I hope.”

A log crackled in response, and an animal shrieked distantly in the woods. He checked his clothes, hoping they were dry, then laughed when he felt nothing. He flipped them around instead, deciding to give them a little more time, then returned to crouching near the door, holding the knife high enough that he could still see it was in his grasp. All he could do now was wait and hope that either Reshtiv didn’t catch up to him or his team found him first.

* * *

The fire snapped and logs crashed together. John jerked awake, reeling in confusion until he remembered where he was. Ruined building. Fire. No sense of touch. He breathed deeply and stared up at the sky. Stars glittered back through the tree branches.

“Crap,” he mumbled. The fire had died down to a small flame and a pile of glowing embers. He must have slept for hours.

He grabbed his clothes, trusting that they were dry enough by now, and pulled them on. It wasn’t until he was scanning the ground for his knife that he noticed he had plenty of light even without the bonfire. He spotted the blade near the structure’s entrance and grabbed it, feeling like he was moving with a lot more ease. Maybe the flashbang was finally wearing off. He licked his lips, feeling cool air touch the tip of his tongue.

It was cold out, so either he had to keep moving or he had to get the fire going again. He glanced into the trees and saw pale light shining through the branches. Straining his ears for any sign of Reshtiv or other predators, he picked his way back toward the path. There was a wider gap in the trees here, and he spotted the source of the light: two huge full moons. It was as bright as snowfields on cloudy nights in winter, and enough light that John decided he could risk traveling. Better to be on the move than to let Reshtiv sneak up on him while he slept.

The fire was almost out, but the embers were pulsing with heat. He grabbed a shorter log then ripped the sleeves off his long-sleeve tee and wrapped them around one end. He stuffed gauze and field bandages in as well, then cut open the lighter and dumped the rest of the lighter fluid onto the fabric. The doused cotton erupted into flames after a few seconds of being pressed against the cinders, and he smiled in satisfaction.

Armed with a torch and knife, John pushed forward on the trail, hoping it led back toward the gate.

* * *

The stone path took John through a series of interconnected lakes dotted with small islands, over rivers—or possibly one river multiple times—and across thick forest. The moons crawled across the sky, lighting the way, and he finally figured out a gait that kept him moving but upright, not too fast and not too slow. Who would have guessed losing his sense of touch would be so unnerving? He’d always imagined blindness or deafness as being the worst, but it had never occurred to him that he could lose his sense of touch.

Animals scratched and shrieked and flapped through the trees around him, their sound amplified in the darkness. John suspected his hearing was on high alert as well, picking up sounds he might not have heard otherwise. He caught errant splashes in the lake out of the corner of his eye, but never quite saw the creatures causing those.

Halfway across the third lake, he saw a fish jump out of the water then land with a splash. He stumbled to a halt and stared at the ripples, wondering if the fish would reappear. The flame of his torch was dying down and he held his hand out over the water, wondering if the light would attract the creature’s attention. It was then that he saw the back of his hand. It was bright red and starting to blister, little bubbles of white glistening in the flickering light.

“Shit!”

He dropped the torch, and it hissed as it hit the water. A second later, he dropped to his knees and plunged his hand into the water. The stone path was a hard pressure against his knees, but his hand was numb. How long had it burned? He scooped some of the lake water up with his other hand and tested the temperature with his tongue, nodding at its coolness.  
He waved his burned hand around in the water, then snapped his head at the sound of another splash, this one relatively close. Had it been a fish he’d seen earlier? Or part of something larger? He glanced down at his arm buried in dark water almost up to his elbow.

 _Something could gnaw away at your fingers below the surface, and you’d never know it._  
He jerked his hand out of the lake, sighing in relief when all of his fingers emerged intact. He sat back in relief, then flinched at another splash in the water somewhere behind him. He took a number of deep, calming breaths and studied his hand. The moons were still bright and almost directly overhead, making it easy to see. His skin was red but the blisters hadn’t broken. It looked like a bad sunburn more than anything.

He’d gotten lucky. With the brightness of the night, he should have skipped the whole torch thing anyway. Muttering curses under his breath, he climbed back to his feet and continued along the trail. At the other side of the lake, it split, and John paused studying his choices.

“I am completely and hopelessly lost,” he said, loud enough that dry leaves rustled away from him as a startled creature made its escape. At this point, he was almost hoping Reshtiv found him. He’d be willing to fake surrender if it meant the trader led him back to the gate.

The lefthand path curved around the lake and disappeared into dark woods. The righthand path sloped upward, through the trees toward the steep hill a hundred yards ahead of him. John walked back out onto the lake and studied the hill, noting a dark line zigzagging across its slope.

“Switchbacks,” he muttered. The hill—large hill. Small mountain, really, at least a few hundred feet up. At the top, he caught the faint outline of a building against the starry sky and nodded. The trek would not be easy, but the height of the hill— _mountain_ —would give him a pretty good vantage point. Once there, he could scope out the territory, hopefully spot the gate or something recognizable. He was better with direction from great heights anyway.

He took off at a brisk pace for about two minutes, then tripped and landed hard. Groaning, he pushed himself back up and took the path at a more careful pace. It cut straight through the trees, ascending the entire time. The path twisted at the bottom of the hill, narrowing as it hit the bottom of the mountain and began climbing up the slope.

The trail was rougher and more grown over, and John fell twice more before reaching the tiny ruins of a rest station at the third switchback. He stopped, breathing hard and surveyed his progress with a frown. He was just barely above the canopy of trees and still had a long hike ahead of him. Five minutes later, he was hiking again, tasting salt on his lips as his worries over hypothermia dissipated.

He fell again on the fifth switchback, landing awkwardly on his left hand. His wrist folded underneath him, and a dull pain erupted in his forearm. He squirmed until his weight was off it, then lay still.

 _Pain_. He’d been terrified of not feeling pain, but now that it was there, his stomach curled in apprehension. How badly had he injured his arm? Bad enough that even the surface numbness wasn’t enough to mask it? He had the sudden urge to throw up. He swallowed it back, wishing he had a water bottle with him.

A scraping sound far above him finally motivated him enough to sit up. He leaned against the steep hill on one side of the path and stared at his arm. It looked a little swollen, but it was hard to gauge. The night was bright, but he felt like all of his perceptions were off. He squeezed his left hand into a fist and grimaced at the throb that flared for a second in his forearm and wrist.

“Tape it,” he mumbled. “Just in case.” He picked his knife up—and he really needed to figure out how to keep that in his hand—then scrounged around for a couple straight sticks. Pulling out the bottom of his t-shirt, he cut off two strips. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but using his good, albeit slightly burned, hand and his teeth, he tied one strip of his shirt around the makeshift splint. When that was secure, he held the knife in a tight grip and wrapped the other strip of t-shirt to secure it. Now, no matter how many times he fell, he wouldn’t drop it.

He might cut himself open a couple dozen times, but he would _not_ drop the knife.  
He crawled back to his feet, then froze. For a split second, he’d felt a ghost of sensation across his skin, the rough fabric of his pants brushing against his thighs. He jiggled his legs a few times, but the sensation was gone.

“Not real,” he whispered. He was halfway up the mountain and the moons were starting to move to the far side of the one he was climbing. He had to reach the top before they disappeared from sight, otherwise he’d be as good as blind.

 _Blind_. Blind people had walking sticks to help them pick out the obstacles they couldn’t see that might trip them up. John reached up and snapped a branch off the nearest tree. It was a little short, but maybe he could use it the same way. With renewed determination, he started climbing again.

Maybe it was the stick, or maybe he was getting used to the roughness of the trail, but he didn’t fall again. He made it to the top and sighed in relief. The top was a flat plateau with the ruins of a building on one side, two and half walls still standing, and another path that zigzagged down the opposite side. The plateau was solid stone, and John realized it was part of the ruins and not a natural formation on the hill— _mountain._ Wind whistled through nearby trees, shaking the leaves and pressing his clothes against the back of his skin.

He felt it. It lasted no more than a few seconds, but he definitely felt his clothes rub against his skin. His left arm was aching continuously, but now his right one was starting up. Sensation was returning. John smiled and stared out over the valley on the other side of his mountain. His grin grew wider when he spotted the wagons and campfires of the traders at the bottom. His gaze traveled from them to the hills behind them. Not too far beyond that first hill was the stargate.

And home. And medical care. And food and water. John breathed in deeply as another breeze rushed around him, over the top of the mountain and back down into the forest below.

“Sheppard.”

John jerked at the sound of Reshtiv’s voice and twisted toward him, raising the hand holding the knife. He had just enough time to see the trader raise _his_ gun, before the barrel flashed. He felt the slugs hit him in the chest, the pressure smacking deeply against his vest. He was mid-air, flying backward, when he heard the explosion of sound.

One, two. Three.

Three shots. He lay on the ground staring up at the sky as he tried to match the sounds with the pressure he’d felt. Two quick shots, then a half-second pause, then a third shot. It hadn’t hurt, though, of course. The stars above him blurred, and he blinked, sucking in a desperate breath. The pressure was still there, on his chest, and he forced more air into his lungs.

Scraping footsteps against the stone plateau signaled Reshtiv’s approach, but John lay still. Shot three times in the chest and yet…he was still breathing, even if it was a little hard. And his arm hurt—deep in the bone where he’d twisted it or broken it. He felt pain there. He didn’t feel pain in his chest the way he expected if the bullets had ripped through ribs, heart, and lungs.

 _Vest._

The shots had hit his vest. He realized it just as he caught sight of Reshtiv approaching him, weapon down at one side. Cocky bastard. He assumed John was dead with those shots. He didn’t know about Kevlar. When he was within a foot, John twisted and kicked out his leg, screaming with the effort. He caught the trader in the side of the knee, and the larger man tumbled to the ground.

John kept rolling, ignoring the vise around his ribs or the pulsing in his head. He scrambled forward, tackling Reshtiv before the other man could sit up and bring John’s gun around to finish the job. The two men rolled, wrestling for the weapon, and two more gunshots ripped harmlessly through the air. John reared back then swung his fist, and Reshtiv’s head snapped against the ground at the impact. The rest of his body went limp.

“Bastard,” he muttered. He pushed back away from the trader and stood up, then immediately swayed and sat back down. “Whoa.”

Breathing was hard. He pressed a hand to chest and saw it was the one with the knife tied to it. He should take the knife off before he stabbed himself, but the world was blurring badly.

“Breathe,” he mumbled. “Gotta…breathe…shit…”

His head hurt, right in the middle between his ears. His left arm hurt. His chest was tight and refusing to let more than a minimal amount of air in. He felt the ground beneath him, and the weight of the vest hanging on his shoulders. A breeze whipped over the top of the hill, ruffling his hair.

“I felt that,” he said, then stopped and forced another deep breath into his tightening chest. He paused, waiting for the wind to return. _He had felt that._ Not much, and only on one side of his head, but he’d felt the wind. “Coming back…”

“I will…have my re…reward money,” Reshtiv grunted out.

John rolled to his knees, bracing himself to continue the fight, but Reshtiv was faster. The other man was swinging as he climbed to his feet, catching John in the mouth with the butt of his weapon. John moaned, tasting blood, and crumpling to the ground. His headache expanded, and air exploded out of his chest as Reshtiv kicked him over onto his back.

“I don’t know what you did to me, but I will have retribution,” he said, and even in the bright moonlight, he looked pale. His face glistened with sweat, and one shoulder was covered in blood.

“Shot,” John whispered.

“That’s right,” the other man sneered. “This is…a fine weapon.” He held the gun up, swaying like a drunk.

John shook his head. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He remembered now, shooting the trader near the river. Did the man even know? They’d been at the height of their numbness at that point. John forced his chest to expand and pull in air, and he felt his clothes brush against the skin. The numbness was fading, and John grinned. He would be in a world of hurt soon, but the effects of the flashbang had been temporary after all.

“You’re…crazy…”

John shook his head. His body felt like it was swelling up, thawing after being out in the cold for too long. Maybe it was swelling up. On the next breath, his chest caught and jerked against a sharp lance of pain.

Reshtiv raised the gun again, but he was gaining sensation too, and he cried out in surprise at the movement, dropping the gun and pawing at the gunshot wound in his shoulder. His fingers came away bright red, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his butt.

“Take that, bitch,” John rasped out. He lurched to his feet, his body feeling big and uncoordinated but alive, and kicked out at the other man’s wound.

Reshtiv screamed, falling all the way to the ground and writhing in pain. John staggered to his gun, but his left arm was throbbing, the fingers refusing to move, and his right one still had a knife tied to it. With a growl of frustration and growing pain, he used his teeth to rip the band of t-shirt wrapped around his hand off. The knife dropped to the ground, landing near the gun.

John knelt and scooped up the gun, ignoring the fiery flare in the bug-bite wound, then aimed his weapon at Reshtiv. His opponent was whimpering now, huddled in a ball on the floor and ignoring John completely. Good thing—John’s arm was shaking badly enough that he probably wouldn’t hit the broad side of a jumper at this point.

“Didn’t have to happen this way,” he said.

“I pray to the Ancestors the rest of your team is dead.”

“Doubtful,” he answered. “They’re better at this fighting thing than I am.”

His breaths were coming in harsh pants now. The Kevlar might have stopped the bullets, but he’d taken the shots close enough that they’d done some damage. His whole chest burned with every breath, and a sharper pain on his right side made him wonder if he hadn’t cracked a rib or two as well. He knew Ronon and Teyla could handle themselves, and he pushed away all thoughts of Rodney. There was nothing he could do for any of his teammates right now, besides getting back to the gate in one piece and getting them help.

“Go ahead,” Reshtiv spat out. “Finish it.”

John shook his head, then winced at the gnawing pain in his head. He could still taste blood, and damn if his lip wasn't swelling up from that last hit in the mouth. Another gust of wind ripped across the plateau, and the air was cold, piercing through his clothes.

“I have no intention of killing you,” he answered, eyeing the trader. He lowered his weapon slowly but Reshtiv continued to lay huddled on the ground. “Never did. You attacked me.”

“What did you do to me?”

“The numbness thing?” At Reshtiv’s nod, John shrugged. “I just picked up one of your little relics and it went off. I had no idea what that thing was or what it would do. I was just trying to defend myself.”

Reshtiv sat up slowly, scowling. “A whole cycle’s pay,” he spat out.

“Give it up. I wasn’t lying when I said the Genii are our allies now. They never would have paid.”

The trader rolled to his knees then pushed himself to his feet. John stood with him, raising his gun. His arm was shaking, but neither man got any closer to each other.

“I don’t believe you,” Reshtiv said, jutting his chin out.

“Tough shit,” John snapped back. “Get out of here. Go back to your family.”

Reshtiv narrowed his eyes at John, then winced. He glanced down at his bleeding shoulder and John spotted more bruises on his arms and pants that were shredded at the knees. He must have had as hard a time as John keeping his balance in those first few hours. John’s knees throbbed suddenly at the thought, waking up to the damage that had been inflicted on them for hours.

“Go!”

The trader flinched at John’s barked order then staggered away. John stayed on his feet, bracing himself for the other man to return, but he heard him stumbling down the switchback trail on the other side of the mountain. The moons were still high in the sky, and John stared at them, waiting. Reshtiv’s stumbling had slowly faded, but he sounded far enough down the path that John didn’t think he was waiting for him—at least not nearby. He’d have to watch out for an ambush just in case, though.

He’d have to actually move his feet forward and hit the trail back toward the gate first. He lifted one foot and felt scrapes and bruises stretch and scream across the nerves of his skin. Barely stifling a moan, he staggered forward one step, then two. The moons above him swam across the sky, spinning out of focus. The pain erupting through his body brought tears to his eyes, but all he could think to do was laugh, the sound of his voice ringing out over the mountains and valleys.

He was still laughing as he collapsed forward, stopping only when he smacked into the hard ground of the plateau and letting the moonlight around him fade to darkness.

* * *

“John? John, wake up.”

The darkness stayed, encasing him in numbness. He wanted the numbness. He hadn’t for a long time, when he’d been awake, but then the numbness had gone away, and he’d been relieved for three seconds before he’d been submerged in fiery pain and wishing the numbness was back.

“What’s wrong with him? He looks like hell!”

Now it was back, but the voices around him were like sharp needles poking away at his dark pain-free cocoon.

“We should move to that building—aaagghh!”

“Ronon?” Teyla’s voice cut through loud and clear, and John felt himself move that much closer to full consciousness.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You look as bad as Sheppard. How hard was—ow, ow, ow, ow!”

“Ronon! Let Rodney go.”

His _team._ He groaned, wanting to see them and giving in finally to the fact that he had been worried sick about them the entire time. He hadn’t wanted to think about what was happening to them, but now that they were there and obviously not dead, he needed to see them.

“John?”

The ground grew hard beneath his body, its uneven surface digging into his back. Both arms throbbed, but one was a deep, swollen pain and the other sharp and burning. He moaned again, forcing his eyes open and pushing back the knife stabs through his chest with every breath.

“Hey, Sheppard,” Ronon said, bending over him.

John blinked, taking in his teammate’s battered face. He looked like he’d gone up against two dozen Wraith and only barely escaped. He smiled, feeling only half of his mouth respond. The other half felt swollen and tender.

“John, how badly are you hurt?”

He shifted his head slightly to the side and saw Teyla kneeling on his left. She had a dark bruise under one eye, dirt all over her face and mussed up hair covered in dead leaves.

“John?” she repeated.

“Hurts,” he whispered. A gust of wind picked up, rushing over the plateau and whipping through the trees on the mountain side below them. It was an icy wind, a touch-sense signal of the coming change in seasons. John smiled, then shivered. “C-cold.”

“He’s delirious!” Rodney squawked, and John noticed him standing at his feet, shifting his weight from side to side. He looked…remarkably fine.

“We are overdue for check-in. We will wait here and have them send a jumper to retrieve us,” Teyla was saying.

“We should move to those ruins. They’ll block the wind.” Rodney turned and pointed to the half-standing structure at the head of the switchback trail.

“You’re okay,” John grit out.

“I’m freezing,” the scientist shot back.

“John, where are you hurt?”

John turned to focus on Teyla again, blinking suddenly heavily eyes. He wanted to go back to that dark, numb place again. He shivered harder at the thought, moaning as the full body shudders ignited nerve endings.

“John, focus.”

“H-hurts,” he stuttered. “Everywhere.”

“What about your back or neck? Any broken bones?”

He shook his head, cringing at a blast of wind. The air was getting colder. He looked up at the stars and saw patches of sky obscured by clouds.

“Come on, let’s—ah.”

“Ron’n? Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

John stared at him. He had blood on one ear running down the side of his neck, bruises around both eyes, a split lip, a long scrape along his jaw, and a cut across the bridge of his nose. Dried flecks of blood ringed one nostril.

Ronon stared back for a moment, then shrugged. “Got into a fight.”

“The traders paired with us attempted to take Ronon and I out, with the intent of turning you and Rodney over to the Genii for the posted reward money.”

Teyla and Ronon dug both arms under John’s back and lifted him to a sitting position. The world spun wildly and John groaned, clenching his jaw as nausea swirled in his gut and clawed its way up to the back of his throat. The pain in his chest amplified, and he dropped his head forward, willing himself to black out.

“John?”

“Sheppard?”

“John, what is wrong?”

“We need to get out of this wind.”

“Rodney, we need your help.”

He didn’t black out. After a moment, his head stopped spinning and the pain dialed down to a steady throb. He felt Teyla shift away from him, letting in biting cold air for a second before another warm body took her place. John opened bleary eyes and looked at Rodney.

“Hang on, Sheppard,” the scientist said, wrapping an arm around his back to hold him steady.

Teyla crouched in front of him, lifting his chin up so she could look at him.

“Chest,” John muttered, before she could ask him what was wrong. “Reshtiv shot me.”

“What?” Rodney squawked and John flinched at the sound so close to his ear.

“Hit my vest, but still…packs a punch.”

“McKay, on three,” Ronon said. Before John had time to process what they were doing, Ronon had counted and both men stood, bringing John up with them. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the two standing walls, then dropped into the corner, huddling together. Wind danced across the plateau, blowing dried leaves across its surface, but the space between the two walls was slightly warmer, and John relaxed against his teammates.

Teyla was there immediately, kneeling in front of him and unzipping his vest. Her hands were cold as she ran her fingers over his chest, looking for bullet holes, but John was too tired to react. He watched her sigh in relief when she saw for herself what he already knew—that none of the bullets had pierced his vest.

“You are very lucky.”

“Don’t feel…so lucky.”

“What happened to you, Sheppard?” Rodney griped. “We tried reaching you for hours. I thought…we thought…”

“Alien flashbang.”

“What?” Ronon asked, shifting a little as he glanced down at John.

“Reshtiv had it…in his b-bag of relics. Turned on when I p-picked it up.”

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Rodney said.

John grinned, letting his head rest against someone arm behind him. “M-made me numb…like…Wraith st-stunner, but diff…differ’nt…”

Teyla leaned forward and pressed a hand against his forehead, then tsked and rifled through her vest, pulling out an emergency blanket a minute later and spreading it over John’s legs and chest. He was shivering hard, like he had been when he’d crawled out of the river, but this time he felt the cold. As the warmth gathered around him, he let himself drift, managing to hold onto consciousness just long enough to hear his teammates answer Atlantis’ radio call. With a jumper on the way, he closed his eyes and reveled in the encroaching painlessness.

* * *

“Good morning, Colonel,” Jennifer Keller announced, breezing into the small curtained space around his bed.

John heard the click of her shoes across the hard floor and the soft swish of her clothes as she moved toward the head of his bed, then smelled her faint flowery perfume. He was not going to open his eyes. He may have been awake for the last twenty minutes, but he wasn’t ready to give into it one hundred percent yet.

“I know you’re awake.”

He groaned, turning away from her. His body was numb again, but this was a familiar numb—the kind that came with a lot of painkillers. He heard a rattle of metal rings against a curtain rod, and the infirmary grew suddenly brighter.

“It’s a gorgeous day out today,” Keller said, but softly like she was half talking to herself.  
He still wasn’t going for it. He was not opening his eyes. He felt the pinch of an IV in his arm, a cast on his left wrist that was making his hand and arm sweat, and a heavy bandage on his right arm. He squirmed deeper into the pillow, managing only to awaken a dull, pulsing throb in his chest.

“Ah, there you are.”

A second later, something ice cold pressed against his chest. He jerked, opening his eyes in surprise then slamming the lids shut again when bright sunshine invaded.

“Oops,” Keller said. “Sorry.”

Except she didn’t sound very sorry. She slid the chestpiece of her stethoscope to the other side of his ribs, and John finally gave in to morning. He let his eyes open to half-mast and watched as Keller listened to his lungs and heart.

After a few minutes, she nodded and pulled the stethoscope away. “Sounds good. Pulse-ox looks good too, but I think we’ll keep you on oxygen for a little bit longer to give your lungs a break. The bruising on your chest is awfully deep.”

“How about this?” John rasped out, his voice hoarse. He lifted his arm with the IV and flicked the tubing toward the doctor.

“How about some breakfast?” she shot back. “Finish off this bag of fluids and eat a full meal, and I think we can safely take the IV out.”

He nodded, letting a small smile flit across his lips. “What’s the damage?” He’d heard bits and pieces of it, and he could probably guess at half, but he wanted to get it straight from her all at once.

She frowned, surveying him. “That alien flashbang seems to have worn off. The scanner picked up only the tail-end of its effects when we brought you in, and nothing since then. Other than that, you’ve got a broken left wrist, a deep laceration on your right arm, second degree burns on your right hand, massive bruising on your chest including one cracked rib, bruising and lacerations on your knees, shins, and elbows, a split lip, a laceration above your left ear, mild hypothermia, dehydration, and exhaustion.”

John’s eyebrows rose as she rattled off her list, but before he could respond, she lifted a finger in the air.

“Actually, we can probably knock those last three off that list—your temperature is back to normal, you’re mostly hydrated, and you just woke up from a solid twelve hours of sleep.”

He blinked, remembering laying under the stars and the bright moons of the planet. It had been night then, probably almost morning, but it was morning now…

“Time difference,” Keller said, then giggled. “Planet lag.”

“How’d you…”

“You’re thinking out loud.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. You’re on some strong painkillers and still waking up a little.” She patted his arm and he scowled, because he was not still waking up. He’d given up on not waking up as soon as he’d opened his eyes. He raised one hand to rub at gritty eyes and stared at the thick bandage on the arm, an image of a dog-sized insect biting into his muscle suddenly flashing through his mind.

"Bug..." he mumbled.

Keller raised an eyebrow in curiosity and John waved his bandaged arm at her.

"I got bit. Huge insect."

She frowned, worry creasing her forehead. "We ran blood tests when we got you home and didn't find anything odd, but we'll double check again. Anything else?"

He blinked, staring at her as he processed the question. _Anything else what?_ Or any other bugs? Or maybe she was asking if he wanted anything else. But she hadn't asked if he wanted anything in the first place, so the _else_ didn't make sense.

Keller cocked her head, then rolled her eyes. “I believe your team just arrived. Let me see about getting you some breakfast."

She shuffled out, replaced almost immediately by Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla. John fumbled with the bed controls, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but Teyla moved faster. A few seconds later, he was sitting part of the way up while Ronon and Rodney busied themselves with arranging chairs.

“What happened to you two?” John asked once everyone had settled. His gaze shifted between Teyla and Ronon, studying the bruising on their faces that looked worse than he’d remembered.

“Told you yesterday,” Ronon said, his voice gruff. “Got into a fight.”

“The traders attempted to take us out, just as Reshtiv did with you,” Teyla added.

Rodney cleared his throat and John looked over at him. He was sitting up in his chair with his arms crossed, looking…smug.

And bruise free.

“Why aren’t you beat up?” he blurted.

“I think his guy didn’t get the message. Didn’t know he was supposed to do anything but look for a missing kid,” Ronon said first.

“That is not true,” Rodney answered. “I did fight.”

John raised an eyebrow and looked at Teyla, who was very carefully not looking at him and not smiling, although he could see the muscles in her cheek twitching.

“What?” Rodney squawked, throwing his hands up in the air. “He wanted to trade me in to the Genii, just like you. I can defend myself. Actually, I _did_ defend myself. Quite well. Better than all three of you.”

Ronon leaned forward. “How do you figure that?”

“Looked in the mirror lately?”

“He’s got a point, big guy,” John said, relaxing back into the pillow. All that time he’d been worried about Rodney, believing Teyla and Ronon could handle themselves easily, and Rodney was the only one to emerge without a single scratch.

One day, he’d get the full story.

“No way are you ever getting the full story from me.”

“Huh?” John asked, startled out of his thoughts.

Ronon leaned forward and patted him on his shin. “You’re thinking out loud, buddy. Painkillers, remember?”

“What about the traders? Still on the planet?” John asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“Gone,” Teyla answered. “Major Lorne returned after retrieving us, but they had already left the planet.”

“Reshtiv was hurt pretty badly. You didn’t see him on the trail?”

“Nope,” Ronon said.

“Lorne checked. There are no lifesigns left on that planet. Also, you were right—he loved that place.” Rodney threw his arms up in the air. “Rambled on and on and on about color this and color that.”

“I knew he’d dig that place.”

The smell of eggs and toast wafted through the infirmary, and John pushed his bed up a little higher. He was suddenly starving, hunger pangs gnawing at the inside of his stomach. A nurse stepped in, depositing the food on John’s table tray and giving him his next dose of painkillers before retreating. He took a long sip from the glass of grape juice and ignored the longing looks Rodney was shooting at his plate.

“I wonder if that flashbang thing is still there.”

Rodney’s expression lifted in sudden excitement. “The trader guy didn’t take it?”

“Nah. Left it on the ground after it went off.”

“We have to go back. You have to tell me where you left that thing. I can’t believe you didn’t bring it with you.”

“Aren’t you worried it will go off again?” Ronon asked, but Rodney was already shaking his head.

“Hello? You don’t think I’ll take the utmost precaution before retrieving something like that?”

“Of course we do,” Teyla answered quickly.

But it was too late. John dug into the rest of his breakfast, listening to Rodney recount every dangerous situation he’d faced since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy, as well as every precaution he’d taken to minimize every possible risk to his health in every situation. Teyla and Ronon slumped back in their chairs in resignation, shooting pleading looks at John, but John shrugged them off.

Maybe it was the painkillers hitting full strength, but it felt good to relive those first few trips through the gate and bask in the memories of exploring alien planet after alien planet.

Yeah, definitely the painkillers.

“Sheppard, you’re thinking out loud again.”

END


End file.
